


From Nothing Comes a King

by ASSphyxiate_My_Soul



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Character Death, Characters to be added, King Arthur AU, NOT pointless character death, rated as such because there might be something more adult later on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-01-15 03:55:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12313284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ASSphyxiate_My_Soul/pseuds/ASSphyxiate_My_Soul
Summary: Once upon a long, long, very long time ago, man and mage live side by side in peace. Together, their combined strengths had unified a broken land, raising a king on either side to ensure that all had a voice, and none were ignored.That peace however, was shattered, when the witch of the wilds raised an army, and marched against the mortal king.





	1. Legend

Once upon a long, long, very long time ago, man and mage live side by side in peace. Together, their combined strengths had unified a broken land, raising a king on either side to ensure that all had a voice, and none were ignored. 

That peace however, was shattered, when the witch of the wilds raised an army, and marched against the mortal king. 

/-/-/

Booming cries filled the valley, drowning out the screams of a dying army below as enslaved creatures from another realm entirely, big as mountains, marched over them, crushing hundreds under one footfall. Men higher up were no safer, colossal tusks and trunks sweeping hundreds more aside as the beasts bellowed in agony.

They were covered in runes, painted in chalk white paint, their eyes lit with an unnatural fiery glow. Atop their great leathery backs were wooden constructs, weighed down by an ocean's worth of chain mail, and at the top of the largest construct, upon the back of the largest beast, was a pyramid of wood and hide, all chained together by iron hooks and nails. 

In the centre of this construct, a circle of white robed men, chanting in unison. In the middle of their circle surrounded by a spell of ingredients, sat the witch of the wilds. She inhaled, drawing energy from all her underlings, feeling the heated pool of magic coil in her centre. She raised her arms to the opening in the ceiling, upwards to a great unrefined crystal that perched there. The magic trickled into the crystal, lighting it up, until it was a beacon. She exhaled. The crystal pulsed, before the focused energy surged forth unto the barricades of the king's castle. The soldiers froze, no time to scream before they began to break, light seeping from the cracks in their skin, and then they were gone, in an explosion of fire and ash, the surrounding stone walls, the ballistae and other soldiers, crumbled, shattered and were thrown back by the impending force.

Again and again, this attack was brought down upon the men. Again and again, others scrambled to fill the gaps in their defences in a desperate bid to protect one another, their friends and families, and their beloved king. 

The king himself stood atop the battle field, calm in the face of disaster, but his eyes shone with sadness and loss at each blow struck upon his men. 

“Gabriel, Sir.” A deep voice, warm and familiar brought him to a place here and now, calling the wit and sharpness he required for the coming fight. Akande, general of his army, another leader feeling the blows against men under his command. His arms were extended, presenting a sword... THE sword to his King. “It is time.” 

Gabriel nodded, fingers finding purchase and curling around the hilt of his sword, immediately soothed by the familiar weight in his grip. With his other hand, he took his crown, removing it so that his hair fell freely, and he turned, making contact with a pair of sky blue eyes. His home, his freedom, his partner in all things.

“Hold the crown. Hold it firm.” He said, and Jack's pale fingers closed tight around the circlet, thumbing one of the various violet stones embedded in it. His own brow sported a similar circlet, though only the front was a metal plate, leather chords tied together at the back, keeping it in place. 

“End the war.” Jack spoke, a request, an order, a plea. And as he always had, Gabriel bowed his head before going to do as his lover asked, turning his back to them and marching down the steps. He took Akande's horse, already tired from the hard ride to meet them, gave it a firm pat on it's flank as he mountain. Ahead one of the mountainous beasts walked through the wall as if it were made of smoke, lining up the construct with the crumbling battlements. Behind him, Akande and Jack rallied those of the troops still able to fight, his heel set the mare below him into a canter and then a full gallop towards the otherworldly beast, intent in his eyes. 

They reached the end of the rampart, and he urged the horse into a leap. She soared forwards before giving a panicked whinny, falling far below as Gabriel, arms outstretched, made the rest of the leap, catching onto the chain mail that decorated this beast's sides. He steadied himself, before climbing upwards, reaching the haphazardly built walls of the construct. He peered through a hole in the wall, and saw soldiers. Barbarians and cannibals from the wilds all snarling and preparing themselves for the fight. Their leader screamed a war cry as the gangplank was lowered and they charged out, meeting Akande and Jack atop the broken wall in a flurry of metal and blood. 

Gabriel did not afford himself the luxury of stopping to see if his friend and his lover were holding their own. He knew they could and would defeat their foes. He himself continued to climb until he stood atop the pyramid, his bones vibrating within as he felt the waves of magic coming from within. He cut away one of the furs and dropped into a smoky room, breath steady as his eyes fixed immediately upon the witch, who stared right back at him, eyes glowing the same as the beasts she had enslaved. 

There was no chanting, all those around her silent and stiff, dried out husks, drained of magic and life for this creatures war. He raised the sword, stepping forward. Both hands on the hilt, his eyes lit up, a vivid magenta, hungry for the blood of those who would ravage his home and his people. He stepped forward through her barrier and her calm facade. There was a flurry of his blade, and she died with a smile upon her face. Her hand a dagger, the tip smeared with blood. His blood, if the sharp pain in his arm was anything to go by. 

Outside, the fighting came to a standstill as the mountain beasts' eyes returned to a warm brown, and they went into a frenzy, angry to have been enslaved they thrashed and crashed, the constructs on their backs crumbling, as they wiped out the witch's arm. As soon as they had come, they disappeared from existence, returning to their realm. 

The few surviving barbarians no longer fought, staring in shock where they had come from. The smoke and dust cleared, and standing upon the edge of the broken wall stood the king. He raised his arm, showing both sides the bloodied crown of branches and gems, before he tossed it into the ravine below. 

Weapons clattered to the ground as the barbarians surrendered, dropping to their knees. Gabriel's eyes searched through the crowd until they locked with a similarly searching pair of blue, and both men smile at one another. 

/-/-/

“We have rounded up the last of the barbarians sire, they are being locked up as we speak.” Akande spoke, arms held neatly behind his back as he stood before Gabriel who sat at a large table, a map laid out before him, meant to be the object of his attention. But his attention was more focused on his son, the child heir no one thought would come when the king had refused to claim a bride and took his best friend as a partner. There were whispers of the boy being some orphan they kind hearted leaders had taken in. As they themselves told it, they woke one morning to the cries of a child, and there lay a new born babe in their bed between them, smelling of the sea. 

At the time, relations with the mages were blossoming, and the mage Kings wife, an expert in all forms of medicine, be it magic or science, came and saw the boy. A mere day later she proclaimed that the blood of both men flowed through this boy, and he was a true heir.

He was two years old now, and playing with a toy horse Gabriel himself had carved for him. Jack stood nearby, cradling a small bundle. She had appeared much like her brother, but the war with the mages started soon after. This time however, no one argued her birthright, and Jack happily cooed to her, tiny fingers curling around one of his and squeezing tight. His joy was Gabriel's joy, and the king smiled tenderly, pressing a kiss to his son's mop of hair before looking to Akande. 

“Let them go. With the witch dead, they have no one to control them.”

“Sir.... With all due respect they are cannibals and followers of false gods.” Akande spoke slowly, but even by the end of his words he saw it how his king did, and his brow softened as he nodded.

“Akande, friend... they too have families and people to return to and care for. Their ways might be different and strange to us, but executing and imprisoning them will only cement the wildling’s hatred for us. Kindness speaks the same to all men, and it is far better to be friends.”

The Commander smiled, giving a slight bow. “Ofcourse. Good evening my king. My prince...” He said, now smiling in the direction of the young boy, who looked to his father for permission before sliding off his lap and bouncing over to the large warrior, who obligingly took him up in a firm hug. 

“Goodnight Uncle.”

Shortly after, he placed the boy on the ground and took his leave to see to the prisoners. If he knew his king, he'd want to send them off with mounts and provisions. There was a lot of work to be done. 

Gabriel, now on his feet, took a yawning Jesse into his arms, holding him close as he turned to face Jack. “Come, love. Let us put them to bed.” The blonde smiled, and together they made their way through the castle towards the children's bed chamber. They spoke little, waiting until they were alone to discuss the battle and the future, repairing the bonds between man and mage, yet before they reached the ornate door, there was a boom, muffled by the walls, but the walls themselves shuddered and creaked, dust unsettling and falling. 

“What....” Jack frowned, holding their daughter closer, and keeping closer to his husband. “What was that?” 

And another boom sounded, and another. Deciding against leaving the children in the room alone, Gabriel took Jack's hand and motioned back the way they had come.

“We should find Akande.... it might be nothing.” His tone betrayed him to Jack, yet not the boy in his arms. He was worried. No sooner had they returned to the dining room than Akande also found them, looking distraught, brow shining with sweat. Fear was not something he felt. He was too proud, to mighty for fear. And yet fear was there, in his eyes, clenching his jaw. 

“The barbarians are all dead. Someone or something killed them all.”

Gabriel frowned, cocking his head to the side. “Explain.” 

“They were all locked tight, in shackles and cells, but all were drained. Like corpses left to dry in the sun. There was a boy, one of the guards who hid in a corner and pissed his pants. Said a demon did it. A creature bled out of the shadows and stood over each man and ate his screams. I've got the men looking for him, but we need to get you out of the castle, NOW.”

SLAM!

The door leading to the cellar burst open. More so that it came clean off it's hinges and embedded itself in the opposite wall, stone and plaster cracking at the edges of it. Smoky tendrils crawled out of the doorway, accompanied by heavily armoured footsteps, calm and steady, hunting. Red eyes sat in the face of the shadow, the rest of it's face hidden behind a skeletal mask. Immediately, it's gaze locked upon the King and his family until-WHAM!

Akande swung his mighty sword with a blow that broke bones of those who managed to block him. But this creature stood steady, attention snapping to the commander, who called to his king, his friends, his family. 

“GO. Get the children out of here! I'll hold it off!” 

And before the creature could ignore him again, he forced it into having to deal with him first. Gabriel snarled, wanting to stop and fight, but ensuring his children's safety came first. “Don't die!!” He called as he took Jack's hand and they both ran, through the winding halls of the castle, not daring to look back.

Once in the royal chambers, he opened a panel in the wall, opening into a secret passage. They had to hurry. Hurry so he could get back and help Akande fight this demon. 

The passage came out to a hidden nook on the lake, a small dock with a boat, always meant to be an escape should the need arise. Gabriel was first to the end, setting Jesse down in the boat and wrapping his furs tightly around him.

“Gabe!!!” There was a scream, in Jack's voice, and when Gabriel turned, he saw the blonde on the ground, blood over his face, their daughter a few feet away, screaming at the top of her tiny lungs. The shadow stepped over the infant, gaze locked on the king, the planks creaking under the heavy steps. 

Gabriel's heart was racing with a fury he'd not felt in years. But he was calm as the eye of the storm, both hands finding the hilt of the sword, the magenta light returning to his eyes once more, his rage making them burn brighter. He met the demon in battle, the blade cutting clean through the creature's form, twisted snarls of pain like nails on a chalkboard cutting through the air. 

He continued the assualt, until the demon drew it's own weapon from the inky black smoke, a scythe, like the ancient depictions of death. It met each blow with a stronger blow, pushing the king back until one blow was so hard he stumbled, momentarily losing balance. It was enough.

The scythe sliced through his armour like it was nothing, once, twice, three times, the fourth catching his arm and forcing him to turn. The scythe caught him on the back and with a ferocious howl of victory the creature raised him in the air like a doll on the end of a stick. 

A flick of it's wrist and the scythe vanished, Gabriel falling and landing on his knees with a loud thud, the king panting, trying to breath through broken ribs and punctured lungs. His eyes met with the young boy's and as if he willed it, the water lapped up against the side of the small boat, pushing it away from the dock. With the last of his strength, he tossed the sword in the air, before closing his eyes and lowering his head, thinking of Jack and dancing in fields of wheat in the sun, laughing the day away before they needed to fight and lead. It was his heaven and there he would find his peace and rest.

The sword came back down, and Gabriel was gone. The demon tilted it's head before stepping forwards and reached for the hilt, shining proudly from the sheath of it's master's kneeling body. But as it came close, the kings body changed, cracking and solidifying around the blade, a prison of stone. The planks of the dock groaned in protest as the weight grew until they gave way, and the king and blade, fell and sank to the bed of the lake, out of reach of the demon, or any one who sought to use it's power. 

The demon snarled, eyes on the horizon, where the boy and the boat had already disappeared into the darkness and the fog. Both of these things the creature had lost, when it cocked it's head at the sounds of the crying infant. A broken voice, like a hundred voices layered over one another, chuckled as it stepped forwards. The king had left it one thing to claim. That, and the throne. It's form began to twist and change, until there was no demon, but the king, scooping his daughter up in his arms and singing a soft tune to her as he walked back into the castle. His voice still echoed itself slightly, an eerie melody over the lake and through the castle halls.


	2. From Nothing

The sun was barely rising over the city of Kings Row, named so for the kings that the rebels had beaten, captured and lined up in a row and executed, their crowns smelted into two bands to sit upon the brows of the mage king and the king of men. The river water shone red as the sunrise, glimmering like the tyrannical war kings' blood on the cobblestones in the setting sun. 

Ana Amari remembered the day with a smile, humming a tune in harmony with the whores under her care and supervision as they did the laundry on the riverbank. She had been there, helping shape today. But any pride and happiness faded quickly as she spied the boat drifting along the river's current. Nothing more than a paddle boat, perhaps stray from it's dock. But alas, she recognised the gilded boarders, as had been boasted by the local craftsman responsible for it's creation. 

He'd been paid handsomely for an unsinkable dingy, fit to carry precious cargo. And with his spoils he paid the whores in gold and drunken rambling, information keenly collected by the mistress. Setting the washing aside, she ushered to her girls to help her, the women bravely stepping into cold water up to their waists, reaching out to catch the drifting vessel and pulling it to shore until it banked in the mud and their dresses soaked. 

Ana first peered over the edge, pulling back the edge of a fur wrap, revealing the most precious cargo within. Brown eyes stared up at her, what should have been innocence, replaced with a numb expression.

“What is it Ana?” One of the girls spoke, curious, yet too fearful of the elder woman to push past and see for her self. 

With a sigh, the mistress gathered the boy up, holding him snugly against her own body. “Speak nothing of this to anyone. This child is simply one of ours. He'll blend in with the others.”

All the women nodded, saying “Yes mistress” in unison. Then gathering up their washing they made their way home in a huddle, the precious cargo in their mistress' arms, she herself in the centre, head held high, with pride unbecoming of such a lowly soul. 

She aimed to keep the boy as sheltered as possible. Hidden. Uninteresting. She thought it would be easy with the dead in his eyes. But it took little time to see that it would be impossible, for everywhere he went, trouble surely followed. 

It started when the boy heard something suspicious, and wandered in on a client beating one of the girls. The man suffered Ana's wrath, but not before the young one suffered his hands aswell. It was then the boy finally spoke, but all he said was his name. It was a start. 

She decided to put Jesse to work, cleaning around the place with the other kids. He was quieter than them, less rowdy and playful, and for that reason, she sent him to clean at the fighters house down the street on her friend's behalf. Her friend, George as some called him, unable or uncaring to pronounce his name properly, complained the boy spent too much time watching the men train instead of cleaning, but never asked to stop sending him. Every day Jesse came home with a gold coin and a treat from the eastern man. 

When the boy reached his tenth year, things became much more interesting, when a guard dragged him in by the ear almost every other week, charged for burglary, lifting pouches of money from people in the markets. She was always made to pay it back to the person, usually an offended noble.   
She scolded Jesse, who simple pouted and apologised, before telling everyone he was always alone. It didn't take her long to realise her coffers always replaced the payment twice from two other young ones. Lena and Lucio to be precise, always at Jesse's heels as he planned something new. She quickly found that the guards could never find the stolen money because Jesse made himself an obvious target, the scapegoat, leaving the others unwatched, to lift at their leisure. She said nothing of it, but laughed with the girls about it over wine. Soon their cupboards were never bare and who were they to complain. 

When he was 12, ten years after they found him, he was around less, vanishing for no reason. Neither Lena nor Lucio could say where, and one evening a panic grew in her heart. Clutching her own babe to her chest, she marched through the streets,searching for him, when she heard a cry of pain in his voice. 

“Get back up. You are stronger than this.”

That was George. She quietened herself and approached the peeping hole a lot of curious men and women used to spy upon the training, when she saw none other than her Jesse battered and bruised and out of breath, shaking as he pulled himself to his feet to fight. 

“All those treats made you soft. Are you a noble?” George questioned, jabbing the boy in his unprotected side. Jesse pulled away with a shout, glaring at the older male. 

“I ain't nobody!” Jesse cried, taking up a fighting stance, albiet a sloppy one, refusing to back down.   
George smiled. Ana smiled. Everything was well. 

Years passed, and short of his twentieth birthday, Ana heard a shout of pain and muffled whimpers from upstairs. Another violent customer she assumed and made her way up to intervene. Instead she found the suspect customer in the foetal position, cradling a bloody nose, Jesse standing above the bed, between the whimpering mess and one of the girls who was sporting what would be a nasty black eye. 

“You touch any of these girls like that again and I'll have yer hand for it.” Jesse spoke, his voice dropping an octave deeper with clear command. “Am I understood?” The mess of a man below him simply nodded, trembling in what could have only been fear.

When the injured customer had left, Jesse almost collapsed in an adrenaline rush, laughing giddilly as he looked up at Ana. “Never gonna let anyone mess with you or the others again.” She smiled warmly and ran her fingers through his hair, eyes alight with the unconditional love of a mother as she thanked him. 

She could only wish that a soul as bright as his wasn't destined for more than this, and that this could be the warm and happy future. Yet she knew hers was not a wish that could be granted. 

///

What was early evening for most, was just the start of the working day for the brothel. Not to say they didn't take customers at all hours, but this was when the real work started and the bar down stairs became more crowded with men of all walks of life, nobles, merchants, foreigners, anyone with appetites the fine ladies could whet. 

It was then that the Talon guards arrived, marching in two straight lines with a shrewd, middle aged sergeant at the head of the serpent. Everyone stopped and stared, all worried they were under the scrutiny of the king's men. Ana sighed, full well knowing they were here for none other than her Jesse. As usual. The sergeant made for the usual back room, where rowdy customers were detained when over intoxicated. As he did, Ana went to the back of the brothel, fetching Jesse and his entourage, not at all fooled by the innocent eyes and looks of confusion. She knew them far too well. 

In the dark room, alone with the sergeant, Lena took the seat, Lucio leant against the wall, and Jesse paced, tilting his head as he eyed the older man. Ana left them, much more concerned with monitoring her girls and the bar. Jesse could handle himself. 

“What's this about, Sven?” Jesse spoke, inclining his head towards the pale skinned blonde, clad in armour that seemed too big and fancy for him. 

“You know what this is about, Jesse.” 

“Do I now? Enlighten me.” 

Sven's eyes narrowed, sighing before he spoke. “This is about you, a years worth of gold, a girl named Emily and some Vikings.” 

“What're you doin'? Writin' a book?” Jesse asked, arms folded across his chest. 

“Sounds like a damned good book, boss.” Lucio spoke, a smirk across his lips. 

“Tell me what happened.” Sven demaned, not in the mood for the trio's bullshit. 

“Well the vikings forgot to pay Emily this morning, so we went and had a chat, and in realisin' the error of their ways, they paid her more than she charged.”

“All of it. From the beginning, Jesse.” The sergeants jaw tightened, lips pursed as he fixed his steely grey eyes on the younger man, attempting to come off as intimidating even though he remained shorter either sitting or standing. 

Jesse sighed and looked to both Lena and Lucio, before nodding his head towards Sven in a barely acknowledged, ok. 

“I woke up. Sorted out the business for the morning. And then we went to see George.” 

“Which George? Boy George, King George, George the dragon, be clear Jesse.” 

“Fighting George. George we all call George because no one could be fucked pronouncing his name right and if I said Genji, you'd be more confused than me in a church.” 

“Jesse.” A warning tone, earning a chuckle from the ruffian. “What did he want.” 

“Told us there was some trouble that morning while we was doin' business. Vikings payed the brothel a visit. There was some trouble, and Emily got caught in the middle. They can't hurt Emily, Sven.” Jesse said, eyebrows raised.

“Can't hurt any of the girls.” Lucio chimed.

“That can never happen.” Lena warned, drumming her fingers on the table with a humourless expression.   
“So we went and paid the vikings a visit.” Jesse continued before Sven raised a finer and silenced him.

“Aren't you forgetting something. You spoke with someone else before that.” 

Jesse frowned, tilting his head as he looked to Lena before realisation flashed across his face. He clapped his hands together triumphantly and pointed at Sven.

“We saw Jamie.” 

“Which Jamie. Lady Jamie. Baby Jamie. Jamie the Shaky.”

“Oh you are doin my head in.” Jesse exclamed, rubbing his temples. “Jamison, the peddler. The street rat Jamie.” 

“Your informant, Jamie. What did you see him about.” 

“He was peddling furs through our territory and he didn't tell us. So he paid an extra fee and our business with him was concluded.”

“Where'd you put the gold he paid you? With the rest of your coffers?” Sven scoffed.

“You know I don't have any coffers Sven. After I look after the week and needy,” Jesse said, gesturing to either of his friends, “And have finished bribing you for the month, I'm left broke. What's this about Sven?”

Sven raised a brow, staring a moment, before continuing. “Rebel Graffiti. A girl. Your girl. Ana's girl.”

“You're all over the place Sven. Can't keep your questions straight.” 

“The Graffiti Jesse.”

“Right, well we saw the born king bullshit on the walls and thanks to the ever proactive Fareeha and my lovely two associates here, the city is rid of that rebel propaganda. You're welcome.” Jesse spoke, hands on his hips knowing full well he'd threatened the girl and her friends that he'd tan their hides if they didn't clean away the paint. Hell, the little girl was ignoring him today because of it.

“Vikings. The Gold.” 

Jesse sighed once more, wondering the state of Sven's mind at this moment. “Well we went and saw the vikings who were in fact wearing furs, the same furs Jamie had been peddling. We had a polite conversation and he paid Emily a years worth of wages.”

“How do you get money from a viking?”

“I feel a joke coming on here. You ask 'em for it.” Jesse said with a chuckle.

“The truth Jesse. What happened?” 

“Fine, fine. First their leader prattled on for a bit about how powerful and mighty they were, and one of his fat ugly mates were laughing at me. So we had a bit of a scuffle and I cut off their leaders beard, convincing him to pay up.”

“Where'd you get the dagger to cut off his beard.” 

“Borrowed it from his fat ugly mate after Lena put an arrow through his lard loving thigh. Shut him up but set one of them other ones laughin'. Short man, great sense of humour. Anyway, we thanked them for the gold, I returned the dagger, paid Emily, the graffiti is gone and we all lived happily ever after.” 

“No we don't Jesse. Because for once, there's something you don't know. Something your street rat informants didn't know. Those vikings, are under the protection of the king. And once you're under the protection of the king, I can't help you Jesse.” 

There was a moment, where a brief sense of regret and worry flashed across the younger man's face, before he shrugged and looked at the older of the two. 

“So. They aren't gonna worry about little old me.” 

“Not yet maybe, but I'd watch my back if I were you.” 

“There's got to be more to it. You wouldn't come here just to warn me about some crap like that.”

Sven tilted his head before simply smiling and standing up, leaving the room, calling everyone's attention as he stepped back into the main brothel. 

“Earlier today, there was a rebel man in custody. He escaped, and killed three of my men. Good men with families. We're checking all establishments to see if he's hiding out among the crowds.” 

“Come on Sven, you know we don't run with those crowds.” Jesse said, having followed him out, pacing the room, eyes searching for anyone trying to remain hidden. Sven ignored him and continued speaking.

“He's an older man, silver hair, two scars across his face. He was wounded during his escape and would be bleeding.”

Jesse spied him, a man, leaning against one of the pillars at the back of the brothel, attempting to hide his hand in his coat, though failed to hid the stains of blood on the sleeve. He was hooded, but eyes of the brightest blue met Jesse's, asking him to remain silent. He considered it. 

“... What would happen to anyone harbouring this man?” He asked, and now Sven answered, a cruel smile across his face. 

“They would receive the same punishment. Their belongings will be confiscated and donated to Talon, their home burnt down and they and their family and loved ones hung as all traitors and rebels are.”

“I see.” Jesse mused, pursing his lips before sighing and shrugging, gesturing to the man in the back. “Sorry mate. But I gotta look out for mine first.” The guards made for the man who made no attempt to run, just smiled as they shackled him, eyes remaining on Jesse as they guided him out of the brothel. The guards began to leave one by one, Sven being the last. He clapped Jesse on the shoulder and thanked him for being such an upstanding citizen, though the younger male felt some eyes on him. Some Customers who secretly supported the rebels, and even Ana, a disappointed look in her eyes as she looked to Jesse. He simply shrugged and shook his head. He just wanted to keep his family safe, and if that meant giving up one old rebel, then he could live with that. 

///

“Rebels attacks are dwindling. They lack any order or command. It won't last my king.” Amelie, Baroness and general of the King's army and Talon spoke smoothly, her armour catching the light as she gave her current report, strolling around the table as the king himself lounged, focused on the map infront of him. Or so it seemed. 

“Sombra, step away from the window.” He spoke, voice rough and guttural, eyes dark as he brooded. Those who saw his true face claimed he was severely ill, afflicted by a disease that ate away at his flesh. He neither denied or confirmed it, though it seemed not to hinder him in the slightest. Least of all when he spent time with the absolute centre of his world, the princess. The last survivor of an attack on his family. 

The girl herself turned and smiled cheekily at her father, but refused to move from her spot. “But Papa, the lake has gone. The soldiers are fighting over something on the lakebed, and it's rather funny to watch.” 

The king frowned, rising to his feet and joining her by the window, peering down at the poor souls below. Something glinted in the morning sunlight. Memories touched his mind, but instead he banished them, instead turning to his daughter and resting both his hands on her shoulders. 

“Go and get changed into your leathers. I promised you Amelie would train you when she had time. And here she is, with time. I'll sort out the men. You have fun.”

The princes smiled, light in her eyes that her father lacked but drank in all the same. Giving him a warm hug, she thanked him before dashing past Amelie to go and prepare. The commander smiled coolly at her King, amused at his discomfort of the matter. “You know she'll only remain distracted for so long. She will want to know about the sword and will pester you ceaselessly.”

“Yes well, while you train her, it gives me time to prepare myself for that conversation.” He chuckled, looking back down to the men and their petty squables. “I want all young men to be rounded up. There was a boy that night...” 

“Your son?”

“.... Yes. He was taken away. We never found him. If he truly is my son, he'll pull the sword. It'll be like a family reunion.” He grinned, tilting his head at the huntress. “And if he won't accept me, we'll make an example of him. That should end the rebellion, don't you think.” 

///

“Jesse!”

Jesse jolted away, sitting upright too quickly for his own body to agree with, Lena shaking his shoulder rather violently. 

“Wha... What is it? Sun ain't even up yet.” He mumbled, but began to wake rather quickly, worried about the girls. 

“It's Talon. They're coming for you. For what you did to the Viking.” 

“Huh? But that was months ago?” He spoke, frowning. 

“Don't matter. You have to get out. They're out for your blood.” Lucio piped up, shoving a back and coat into Jesse's hands. There was a loud knock, booming of metal gauntlets on the door of the brothel demanding they open up in the name of the king. 

Jesse cursed, pulling himself up and out of the bed. Go into hiding for a month or so, let this whole thing blow over, then he'd come back. No biggie. He waved to Lena and Lucio as he climbed out the window, and over the roof to the back alleys. On the ground, he dressed quickly and started heading to the street, head bowed, mind full of questions. 

However at the end of the alley way, a gloved hand caught the front of his shirt. A guard. Shit.

“Oi, where you going this time of morning?” 

“To the docks sir, I'm workin' on one of the ships.” Jesse replied, one of many smooth lies he was used to using. 

“Hm... Looks about the right age.” Another guard muttered. “You got your brand boy?”

Hell no he had no brand. He'd heard of the king's latest craze and thought it was completely pointless. The bastard couldn't let things be. 

“No sir. Haven't had the time.” He said, keeping his head lowered like any good deckhand. 

“Heh, well then, you're going on a boat then son. Just not the one you was thinkin'.” The guards said, chuckling between themselves. He surrendered to it, atleast thankful they seemed to have no idea about the other Talon guards out for his head. 

The guided him to a barge, full of other men about his age and he shuffled into the crowd, feeling very much like cattle headed to the slaughter. There were so many of them on board that there was no room to sit or lean, and no place to breath with out smelling someone else. A terrible way to spend a day and night until they arrived at their destination, the dry lake below the king's castle the next dawn. And after standing so long, their reward was climbing a winding stair case up the side of the cliff the castle was built into, seeing rather closely the smoother stone where once the water from the lake and upper river had flown into a waterfall and too the river below. Or so he had been told. Once a grand sight for visitors, it was now just a plain old rocky cliff face. 

Not that he cared to pay it much attention, or take in the gorgeous view of the countryside. All he saw was the crowd of hundreds of others like him, corralled into this ridiculous activity. Along the sides of the empty lake were cages, full of younger boys, children. Some he recognised as boys that had gone missing off the streets of Kings Row. He thought they'd have been better off dead than whatever fate the king had in store for them. 

A shout of pain drew his attention to a group of young men receiving a brand on their hand, stating they had tried to pull the sword and failed. The king was looking for a son, they said, one who had been taken and raised by rebels to hate him. He only wanted to find his blood, they said, and brand those who were unworthy. 

Jesse didn't give a hoot about it. He just wanted to receive his brand and be on his way back home. Well, sort of. He hadn't forgotten about the other Talon guards that had him in their sights. Cussing he pushed through the crowd, ignoring their insults and calls to wait his turn as he made his way towards the giant stone, beholding a sword hilt so stunning he might have thought it beautiful, had not the magenta stone at the end caught his eye, glinting in the light of the early morning. He heard a voice... no, many voice, whispering on the wind. 

“Oi!” A Guard called him out of the trance. “Pull the sword, get your brand, get lost.”

Wordless, he nodded once, mind buzzing as he reached out towards the hilt with one hand, before drawing his hand back like he'd been burned by the steam of boiling water. 

“Hey dumbass! Both hands!” The guard called again. He clenched his jaw, frowning, before taking up the indicated stance, expecting another burn. Nothing. Just silence. He curled his fingers around the hilt, and gave a tug. And effortlessly, like a blade through a fresh baked loaf of Ana's bread, the blade pulled through the stone, the crack growing and crumbling. The ground around him shook like the lake bed itself was pulling away from the earth, the Guards and everyone else around stopping what they were doing to stare in awe. A crack travelled up the castle wall from the lake bed, stones falling and landing around them. Jesse didn't notice, his eyes rolling back in his head, unable to release the sword but oh so desperate to be rid of it, demons dancing behind his eye lids as someone called out to restrain him.

Before anyone could lay a finger on him, he collapsed, the sword clattering to the ground beside him, and all the sound in the world vanished, all light, all colour, and he was simply adrift.

J E S S E


	3. The Mage

Sparks flickered into the air, the heat from the small forge keeping the room warm, clang of metal striking metal silencing a moment as Akande paused his simple work of forging nails and horse shoes to wipe the sweat from his brow. He made nothing grand, or anything of extraordinary quality. He only made what the locals required. A living if nothing else. A way to obtain and save gold without earning the ire of the guards. 

A knock at the door drew his attention, and a head of dirty, patchy, sandy blonde hair poked in. “Someone here to see you.” Was the short introduction he was given to the stranger. With a sigh he dropped the hot metal tongs and the nail he had been making into a bucket of water, steam adding a layer of humidity to the air. 

The stranger stepped in, the door closing behind his form as he strode over to the window, craning his neck to peer into the street beyond. The way he moved was as if he were the wind itself, the deep blue cloak around his shoulders only adding to the illusion. And when he glimpsed the face mostly obscured by a hood, his heart caught in his throat, never thinking to be granted permission to gaze on one so beautiful, eyes like blue gemstones glowing in the moonlight. 

“It has begun. He needs your help.”

///

Jesse tried his hardest to suppress a shudder, his bones and body sore all over from a week on the cold stone floor of the cell. His wrists were red and raw from continued restraint in irons. He was thirsty and starving and wanted to know what was going on. His only visitors the silent guards changing shifts throughout the days, and the rats that sought for scraps, only to find none, scurrying into the shadows whenever he shifted to try and find some modicum of comfort. 

He thought this was it, that he'd pulled the sword and would now be left to starve to death. That damned sword... If the guards had just let him go, he could have slipped away, waited some time and then be back home, doing his usual and looking after Ana and Fareeha. Apparently he was however not to be forgotten, his cell door squeaking open, before shutting. He didn't rouse. He simply listened to the sound of boots on stone, a stool being set before him, and then... the clatter of a tray being set down infront of him. A bread roll, steaming, fresh from the kitchens. A bowl of stew, a chunk of cheese and some fruits and nuts of a quality that Ana would keep aside for the highest paying of customers. His mouth watered and he reached first for the bread, a noise escaping him as his fingers closed around the deceptively soft roll, warm and screaming to be dipped in that glorious looking stew.

He sat upright, not fast, but as quick as he could manage in his current state, adjusting himself, but not at all fussing over his appearance before he began eating. He didn't even care if it was poisoned right now, just happy to eat something. When he was halfway through his stew, crumbs caught in his beard but not at all deterring him, a cup entered his vision, offered by a broad hand, gilded with seals and rings. Only then did he pause his feasting, just now paying attention to the man before him, his stomach's saviour, the tyrant king who smiled, continuing to offer the cup. 

With a cautious frown, Jesse took the offered cup, but waited some time before drinking. It was water, clean and pure, to the best of his knowledge. 

“How does it feel?” The king spoke, his voice gravelly like his throat had been torn apart by hounds and stitched back together again. “To be the lost son. To be the man the rebels rally against me for?” 

Jesse felt cold, sweat beading on his brow as he looked to the king, before quickly averting his gaze. “Sire, I ain't nobody. I'm just the son of a whore. I'm happy with my lot, and whatever it is they fight for I want none of it.” Jesse spoke, fingers gripping the cup tightly, feeling like the food he'd just devoured might make a swift return. 

“Oh I know who you are. Believe me. While you've been in here, we've done some investigating. I've met the whores. Emptied your coffers. Found just how far the borders of your little empire go. How many ears and eyes you own.”

“It's just to look after the girls, sire. I swear I ain't against you. Just... Just let me go, an' I'll go. I'll just disappear. Like none of this ever happened.”

There was silence for an uncomfortable moment before the king chuckled, tilting his head. And then a shiny boot appeared in Jesse's vision, perfectly polished, almost so he could see himself in it. “Kiss it.” The king commanded, an in his fear, he forgot his pride, doing as he was bade. The king was pleased, the boot leaving Jesse's lips without much more event. Jesse remained silent, awaiting what the king would say. “You know... I really want to believe that if I let you go, you'll disappear. But in my experience, simply letting you go, or even killing you won't do. You're an idea, my boy. The only way out of this is to end the idea the rebels fight for. Do that for me and not only will I let you go, but give you the choice to enter the court. You are my long lost son after all. I simply ask that you perform a test. A simple task, to prove to me you haven't been stained by the rebel retches.” The king spoke, kindness in his words but not enough to hide some sense of cunning and cruelty. Or perhaps Jesse was just imagining it. How hard could this task be? 

“I will do whatever it is you ask of me, sire. To prove that what I say is the truth.” Jesse replied at last, daring to look up to the king, unable to get a decent look at his face, mostly for fear, but also due to the dim lighting of the cell. 

“Excellent! Finish your meal, then the guards will bring you up and we shall begin!” The king clapped his hands together with a delighted smile as he stood, giving Jesse's shoulder a brief squeeze. “I am expecting great things from you, my boy.” His tone chanced a fondness like he was trying to make himself believe something. Perhaps that this really was his son. Jesse didn't dare think to believe it right now. He was simply trying to survive. 

A half hour later, two guards came to his cell, one wordlessly assisting him to his feet, the other standing watch over them both, following behind as Jesse was taken up and out of the dungeon, squinting as even the dim light of some great hall proved too much too soon for his eyes to adjust to just yet. But when they did, he saw Emily, Beatrice, Anne and some of the other girls, all huddled together against a wall. 

There was a sweet moment of relief in his smile when he saw them, releasing a breath he had never been holding as they cried out when they saw him and gathered around, worrying over him as they usually did.

Someone in the room cleared their throat, the sound echoing around the room, causing everyone to tense up once again, the girls returning to their positions. The king stood by a table off to the side, cast in shadow so he had not yet been noticed, dressing himself in ceremonial jewels and a cloak of black fur.

“We found out something else. Perhaps you knew, perhaps not. Something dark in your... What did they call it? Your territory.” The king spoke, amusement in his tone. A chancing twinkle in dull eyes. “Rebel spies. Agents. The task I ask of you, to be not only forgiven of your image to the rebels, but to chance being welcomed into these halls as an equal, is to put an end to these spies.”

Ok. Ok. That seemed reasonable. Find the king's bad guys. Make them quiet, happy ending. 

“Sire? Where are these people you speak of?” Jesse asked, keeping his voice steady as possible, attempting to seem confident when really he would much rather wake up from this bizarre dream. 

“Why, 'son', they are the lowest of the low. The embodiment of all things foul. The most devious and cunning of creatures...” The king chuckled, eyes flicking to look upon the women before him. “Who better to leech information from drunk men than the women sitting in their laps.” 

A chill passed through Jesse's layers, raising the hairs on his skin as he too looked at the girls, before looking wide eyed at the king. 

“Sire, these women are no spires. I swear it. Their lot in life don't seem so pretty, but on my life I swear these girls are innocent. We ain't never allowed politics and plottin' into the brothel. They have nothing to do with the rebels-”

“Jesse...” A soft voice spoke, Emily, who offered a smile and an apologetic look as confusion formed upon his features. The king chuckled once more, moving closer to the younger man.

“They've already confessed their crimes, child. Gave their lives for yours, so it seems. You wouldn't want to spit on their sacrifice, now would you.” 

The king offered forth his now gloved hand, a small dagger resting on his palm, offering it to Jesse, as if in complete confidence he would not turn the blade on the king himself. The metal shone in the light and his recent meal felt it might make itself known again. He clenched his fists to ground himself, nails biting into his palms as he frowned, staring at the king evenly for the first time.

“No. I ain't killin' them.” 

“Sooo.. what you're saying is that you would revoke their offer? And die in their place?” A smile grew on dark lips, framed by groomed facial hair, lips that many said hid the fangs of a beast. 

“I want to live sire, but not at the cost of lives of I hold dear.” 

The man before him scoffed, one hand resting on his hip as he shook his head with a disappointed sigh, all the while looking oh so pleased with how things were going. 

“A so be it, though I had hoped things would go differently, it can't be helped. Ladies, you are free to go.” He spoke, now addressing the women, who seemed lost, distraught, some reaching out to Jesse as if to change his mind. “One last thing however...” a flash of light as the kings arm stretched out, the dagger in his taloned gloves. And then in the light there was red, and Emily choked on her last cry as she fell back into the arms of the other girls, who screamed and cried and begged and pleaded, trying to staunch the bleeding and stop Emily's life from ebbing away. “That was for speaking out of turn.” 

All that Jesse saw was the red of the blood staining the floor, the girls and Emily's fading self. Red. So vibrant it was not the only thing he saw, but the only thing he heard. Smelled. Tasted. A snarl, a roar like a beast of the darkest realms, tore from his soul as his voice tore his throat to shreds. He lunged for the king, screaming no words, just pure rage at him, but armoured guards cut him off, restraining him. One kneed him in the stomach, hard enough to dull the rage a moment as he sputtered and cough on himself, before crying out, sorrow swiftly replacing his rage and the will to move beyond that spot. The guards however, forced him to his feet, the king now one dagger less, dusting off his shoulders and tucking a loose hair behind his ear. 

“Now now, compose yourself. We have an audience awaiting us, and a rebel coup to crush. Now unless you want the rest of these sewer rats posing as doves to suffer the same fate, you will calm down, walk out onto that podium, say nothing. Answer no one. Kneel. And that's it. Simple! The rest will be carried out by the headsman!” A gloved hand rest on his cheek, thumb stroking away his tears with utter fond regard. “I ask only this simple task of you dear child, and then, then you shall be free.”

A moment passed before the king clapped Jesse on the shoulder and brushed past him and the guards keeping him upright. He said something else to the entire room that Jesse didn't hear, and at this point he didn't quite care too. Let the headsman have him, so then as the king said he would truly be free. 

The king asked if he understood what was being asked of him and he nodded solemnly, red still dancing in his vision, but he felt too heavy to reach for it. He said nothing as the guards guided him to two ornate doors of wood and iron, decorated with scenes of battle and the hunt for the mages. Beautiful and terrible, and utterly disregarded by the young man. What was he to do? He could not fight. He was nothing more than one man. For once he could not protect the people he loved and he could not save himself from his fate. The king walked behind him, taking his seat in a throne that kept just out of the blaring sunlight, waving in the chants of the crowd too scared or too numb to defy it. 

A woman, tall and pale with long raven hair introduced Jesse to the crowd as he was marched to the front of the podium. She asked him if he was the leader they desired, if he really was the born king, or some flaccid pretender. His silence was her answer, a cold smile forming as she feigned disappointment and gestured to the guards. 

Jesse was forced to his knees, an intricate stone block in front of him, still stained with the blood of former high profile executions. Maybe he should feel honoured by the gesture. But all he thought to do in his last moments was think of Ana and Fareeha, Lucio, Lena, Genji. All those who had been known to be affiliated with him. He prayed to any god, old or new, as long as they listened, to watch over his friends, and spare them the same fates. How could any of them have known taking him in would end in this? 

The stone was cold on his chin and throat, the crowd eerily silent as they watched on. He saw some shake their heads, mouthing the word, 'no'. Others turned away only to be forced back to watch the man they thought they idolised meet his end. Fools they were to still believe in fairy tales. To his left he heard heavy footfalls, and knew that this was the end as guards secured him to the block with ropes, making certain he couldn't escape and perform some miracle. 

Overhead, he thought he heard the cry of an eagle, or falcon. Not that he could tell the difference, being a lad from the city, but it still sent a chill down his spine. Not the same chill the king had, but something different all together. He frowned, his eyes searching the crowd before honing in on someone perched above them all, just out of sight near the cliff he had ascended to draw the sword. Far away, but Jesse could see him so clearly, his fingers steeped in the soil, his mouth forming shapes as if he were speaking to someone near by, but his eyes were staring into nothing. 

The eagle cried again, this time louder, and Jesse cringed as he felt the edge of a strong wing pass over him as the people around him cried out. The headsman stumbled and must have fallen, crying out something about his eyes, his eyes. The woman who had spoken before swore and stepped forwards, drawing her sword as if to finish the job, no one seeming to care enough to save the executioner from the bird of prey, when she too cried out in horror, her sword dropping as she began patting herself down. Spiders of all kinds were climbing up and out of all the nooks and crannies they could fit through, climbing up her legs and covering her. This time guards did rush forward, helping her retreat and clear away the arachnids. Other guards below began to scream aswell, their own attack dogs turning on them, bloodying their maws on their master's throats. Horses kicked under their riders, the crowd panicked, a human stampede began to form, and out of the chaos, two cloaked figures climbed up onto the podium, and cut Jesse's bonds, hauling him to his feet. A sword was thrust into his hands, the same sword he had pulled, and he gripped it only glad to have some means to defend himself. He turned briefly, and swore under his breath as he saw the king being ushered inside by a wall of guards, some among them bleeding heavily. The girls too were already gone, hopefully having fled with the crowd and not still captive within. 

Telling himself that was what had happened, he turned and followed his rescuers, saying nothing as he sprinted behind them, climbing back up to the top of the cliff, shoving guards out of the way as they made their escape. They reached the man he had seen before, who pulled himself out of whatever trance he had been in, sparing no one a glance or explanation as he began walking away from the scene. 

“What's going on?!” Jesse asked, and was about to ask when some of the guards who still maintained their senses came barrelling up for them.

“KILL THE MAGE!” They cried, and one aimed a crossbow, pulling the trigger. One of the men who had cut Jesse loose cried out and jumped in front of the third man, snarling as the bolt buried itself in his shoulder. 

“Run! Now!” He cried, intent on sacrificing himself for the safety of the others. Without a word, the second man ushered Jesse and the mage along, away from the fight as his comrade refused to let the guards pass. But at their backs the only escape was the river, far below them. Jesse swore, feeling dizzy as he looked down into the the dark water. Even the man at his side seemed hesitant. But there was a flurry of blue and the mage discarded his cloak as he jumped. 

Emboldened by the mage, the other man let loose a flurry of swears as he too jumped, leaving Jesse to make the decision himself if he would rather this death or the one offered before. He muttered yet more curses under his breath, clenched his fist around the hilt of the sword and jumped. He screamed through the fall, shutting his eyes tight as when he couldn't handle the sight of the water approaching so fast, and then there was deafening silence and brief pain as he entered the freezing water. As soon as he stopped sinking, he opened his eyes, trying to find his companions. 

In the darkness, a face appeared, or what he thought was a face, and his scream rang silent, and all his air escaped in large bubbles, obscuring his vision. The face vanished. Something touched his arm, and pulled, and he saw the mage, beckoning him to follow. 

Arrows pierced the water around them, but none hit their mark, and he suspected the mage was responsible, yet he could not be certain, more interested in breaking the surface and gasping in air. He let the mage pull him through the water to a log, conveniently floating by, where all three men clung, letting the current drag them along. 

The castle was soon out of sight, the trio drifting until the sun began to sink and the only life on the river banks were the woodland creatures, distant mountains that were in view earlier in the day now blocked by trees.

It was then that the mage gestured for them to leave the log and swim for shore, where four horses were tied to trees. Jesse himself made no attempt to approach the beasts, collapsing on the bank as soon as he was out of the water, his body feeling entirely too heavy to move, the air far too fresh for his lungs after so many years of patrolling the back alleys and docks of the city. A muddy boot nudged his shoulder and he scowled up to the man, the only one left of his saviours besides the mage. 

“Time to move.” He said briskly, obviously on edge and irritable. His friend had died after all. Jesse sighed and dragged himself to his feet, only to find a rope being held before him. He rolled his eyes and held out his hands, letting the man tie his wrists together.

“And here I thought we were friends.” He joked bitterly, and the man tied an especially tight knot, causing Jesse to wince. Guess they weren't quite friends yet. He was helped to mount one of the horses, and led behind the other man's horse, but the mage rode where he pleased, behind them, ahead... When the darkness came, Jesse thought it was a good time to stop and make camp, especially when a howl echoed through the forest. But the mage rode ahead anyways, and in single file the horses followed, even the riderless one, whose saddle seemed to weigh heavy on the third member of their party. 

When the sun began to rise, Jesse was dead tired, but unable to even doze atop his horse, his bones aching in all places he never thought he would ache. The man ahead coughed once or twice, and then the mage gestured with his hand, tilting his head to look at the man. The horses stopped and Jesse watched the other two exchange some words. 

A brief camp was made, Jesse watching the mage brew some sort of tea, stirring with a simple dagger before offering it to the other man, who still coughed from time to time. As he drank the brew, the cough subsided and the man thanked the mage, still holding the warm pot close for a time, taking the moment to rest. 

“If you're some all powerful mage, can't you just magic his cough away?” Jesse probed, unable to keep his mouth shut as he stared at the mage, who refused to turn and look at him, though Jesse did spy the muscles in his jaw clenching. He'd hit a nerve perchance. “I thought you were supposed to live in some magical land of fairies and elves and shit. But here you are, sitting in the mud and dressed like any other common man...” He glanced at what the mage wore, and smirked, cocking his head to the side. “Or common woman.”

The mage did turn to face him this time, but far too quickly for him to notice, and in the next moment he was seeing stars and pain bloomed on his face. The mage marched off, shaking his hand, and the other man laughed at his misfortune. When camp was packed up, the mage placed a sack over his head without a word, and neither he nor the other man responded to Jesse for the rest of the trip. No matter how hard he probed with barbed words or uselessly remarked about being able to see through the patchy cloth of the sack. How it smelled like dirt. How he had to pee. The silence was getting to him, as well as fatigue and the lack of ability to tell time. He could see through the sack, but not enough to entertain himself. He was bored out of his mind. 

Eventually he felt the horses slow to a stop, the low murmur of many voices in one place filling his ears and waking him up from his poor attempt and napping. He was hauled off the horse by other people, and the sack ripped from his head, scratching up his cheeks. He blinked as the light stung his eyes and peered around. Women, children, farmers... Simple people, sharpening swords, making arrows and preparing for war. He was led past them all, each and every one stopping work to stare in awe.

They were living in a cave filled with smaller caves, a hideout with naturally formed rooms, with doors constructed of fabric and leaves. He was lead into one room at the back of the cave, and made to stand before a beast of man. Skin dark as the night sky, clothes barely containing the mass of man inside as he hummed a tune and peeled potatoes, filling a bucket large enough to feed the mass of people here. At his side, stood another man, someone familiar, two scars crossing his pale face as he stared at Jesse. 

“I remember you.” Jesse spoke, almost smiling at the sight of someone he could recognise. “You escaped.” 

“No thanks to you.” The man muttered, voice rough from years of barking commands, or so he guessed. Atop his brow shone three violet stones set on a leather band, the same kind of stones that sat in the king's crown, that were kept for royalty alone. 

“This here, is Jack.” The larger man hummed, setting aside his work as he stood. And gods was he tall. Shoulders broader than any other man he'd seen before and he carried himself with a regal standard, as if he weren't supposed to be dressed in anything less than silks. But even then his composure was astutely calm, assessing the situation. A leader, regarding a newcomer. Was Jesse worth the loss of one man to him? 

And Jack, as he had been introduced, had slunk back into the room's corner, but his gaze never left Jesse. He didn't seem at all like he was pissed or wanted to smack Jesse around for dobbing him in the other night. He had his arms folded, but he couldn't entirely hide how restless he was, like he was holding himself back, in his own way assessing Jesse, but not like a leader protecting his people. 

“I am Akande.” The taller man spoke again after a time, drawing Jesse's attention back to him, almost surprising him.

“The great General Akande? Traitor to the crown and all that? Thought you were dead or buggered off out of this country. Would've been the smart move.” Jesse scoffed as the older man chuckled at his words. If you believed the stories people spoke, he had served with the king back in the day, when the land wasn't yet whole. Once a prince from a far off land, he had fought an empire. The empire engulfed his home and he shed his titles to escape, to live and fight another day and so on and so forth. 

But it had been the prince's luck that the family sheltering him were captured as they fled, himself included, and all were sold into slavery. One thing led to another and he ended up becoming the slave to one of the kings that kept this land from uniting. When his master was slain, the slaves were freed. But he assured his saviours he wanted only vengeance and to fight with them, a ploy at the time to gain allies for his own battles.

His saviours in question had been the young upstarts that would eventually end the divided kings and rule together. After that, the tale changed depending who told it. As the king decreed, the general had aided in the assault on his palace, that stole his son and partner, in a rage for wanting more than his fair share for liberating the kingdom. 

As Ana had told him when he was a young boy, Akande, after so many years away from his home had forgotten it. And had no way to find it and fight for it again. He found a new home however, with the king and his family, and fought with them and for them with furious devotion. A warrior without equal whose heart had been hurt so often he had to build walls around it. When the attack on the palace had happened all those years ago, he had fled with what survived of his men, and once more he hid amongst the common folk. This time he would not forget his home. This time he would fight for it without waiting for someone else to come along and do it for him. And so grew the resistance. Rebels hated by the king and his men with a passion. 

As Jesse saw fit to say it, Akande was a mountain of a man he'd rather not tangle with. At least not until he figured out how to get under his skin. 

“A smart move, yes. But wise? I think not.” Akande chuckled all warm and smooth, and Jesse realised how hard it would be to find out what made the man tick. Stories be damned. 

“Well then when I'm old and ready to be wise, I'll find a nice hole in the ground like this one and peel some potatoes then shall I?” Jesse mused, a defiant grin on his face as he rocked back on his heels. 

Akande merely chuckled once more, shaking his head as he looked to Jack briefly. And then from the side of the room, the surviving soldier who had ridden with Jesse and the mage passed the sword that was the source of his woes to the giant general, who in turn, extended it to Jesse. Another person, one he hadn't seen before, moved forwards and untied Jesse's hands. 

“Why wait. You're never too young to become wise.” Akande replied as Jesse took the sword, cautious the whole while with a frown. “But now, you will show us how much a man you really are.” A grin lit up his face as Jack moved forward from the shadows, hands twisting with eachother before setting a ring upon the table, an old, ornate signet ring with a standard Jesse did not recognise. But it was placed with purpose, as if to draw his attention to the ring specifically. 

“Keep the ring on darlin', you look a lot prettier with it on.” Jesse quipped, eyes narrowing a bit as they followed Jack, before Akande spoke, his voice drawing his attention as he moved to exit the room to the larger part of the cave, Jesse following out of instinct more than of his own choice. “Oi! Where're you goin'?” He called with a huff. He wanted answers. And more importantly, to leave. He was done with this whole mess. And then-

SLAP!

His cheek bloomed with a biting pain, as Jack passed him, striking him as he remained unguarded, a devilish grin on the old man's features. “That would have hurt a lot more, had I left the ring on.” 

Jesse cursed, before spitting on the ground and standing up straight. The central cave was full of onlookers now, everyone curious to see what he would do. Jack himself took up a sword of his own, testing the weight, as he lazily turned to face the younger man. Jesse scoffed, slamming the sword down so the point was in the dirt, standing up on its own as he folded his arms.

“I know what you're all doin'.” He spoke, stepping away from the sword. “You're trying to get me to do something with that there sword. Well I'll say this,” He paused, eyeing the room, getting an idea of what he was up against, seeing all the hopeful faces staring down at him. “I want no part of this, ya hear.”

He took a few slow steps forward, extending his arms outward, palms up in a show of surrender, tilting his head as he eyed Jack, Akande and several other men standing by. “There's only one of me. I ain't no fighter. I parade back alleys and docks, shaking folks up for protection money. You think I do any fightin'? And there's a whole lot of you? That's hardly fair now is it?” His words were careful, sounding like a commoner who was as ill educated as the next beggar. 

Jack was an arms width away, something in his eyes softening. His sword arm slackened, and Jesse struck, a fist to the gut, followed by a knee to the groin, before he shoved Jack back, into Akande, who caught him, an expression of legitimate concern on his features as Jesse snickered. Jack cursed, steadying himself, before taking a more aggressive stance towards the younger male. 

“That all you got you little shit?” He spat, angry at the pain, but some sort of amusement in his tone. Jesse laughed, taking his own sword back out of the ground, swinging it around lazily with one hand. 

“Wouldn't you like to know sweetheart.” He said, shooting him a cheeky wink. Annoy a target, enrage them, and their defence is likely to fall. Unlike Akande, Jack wore his passion on his sleeve, and Jesse knew he'd be more than easy to trip up. 

Two other's stepped forward, either side of Jack, swords at the ready. One was unknown, but the third was the man who had travelled with Jesse. He looked like he was more than eager for a fight, and who could blame him. Jesse had learned thrice over how to get on his nerves on the journey here. 

“Three against one? That's hardly fair now, innit?” He shrugged loosely, and then lunged. George would scold him for his stance, but it wouldn't be the first time he'd seem deceivingly lax in a fight.

Jack blocked him with his sword, and the third man lunged for Jesse, only to receive a boot to the gut. Jesse ducked, drew his sword back in an ark, and tossed a fistfull of dirt into the second man's face, before he pushed him back into the onlookers. One man winded, the other blinded, it was Jesse and Jack alone again. The younger of the two chuckled rolling his shoulders before raising his sword, flexing his fingers as he raised his second hand to the hilt.

And then a force, like a pulse within him, like the pressure of the deepest waters engulfed him and then released him. He could no longer feel his body and fell back onto the dirt floor. He heard the scuffle of feet and the muffled cries of his name. He thought Jack was hovering over him, all concerned like Ana had been that time he near drowned as a boy. 

And then someone else was calling his name, and he was standing on a dock. Old, rickety, wooden planks rotting, but the moss was brain matter and the water was blood. Above him stood a shadow, made of of black smoke and blacker ooze, a bone white mask peering down at him. He was frozen, chilled to the core, but when he tried to scream, no sound came out. And then there was a warmth on his cheek, the one Jack had slapped. But it was not pain, but soothing, and soft. A hand, resting, not striking, guiding him down to look away from the shadow and into brown eyes warm and tender. The king... but not the king. This king's edges were softer, his dark skin richer, warmer. 

Both of his hands cupped Jesse's face now, and all Jesse could do was cry. Sobbing into the kings hands as he apologised over and over. All this was his fault. The king said nothing, merely smiled warmly at Jesse, and then he was bleeding, from his mouth, nose, ears and eyes. His scars opened to reveal more eyes, pupils dilating rapidly as they all fixed on Jesse. The shadow loomed and screeched and inhuman cry, engulfing them both until shadow was all that remained.


	4. The Hound

Jesse sat upright with a start, gasping for air. His throat was hoarse, and when he tried to speak he could only croak. There was the sound of rustling fabric, and before he could assess the situation, the mage was at his side, pressing a cup to his lips.

“Drink. It will help.” He almost crooned, and Jesse couldn't refuse him, drinking obediently. It was cool, and sweet, like honeyed water, though as he drank the cool feeling bloomed within, travelling through his veins. The headache he didn't know he had, began to fade, and the soreness in his joints from the past month, sleeping in a dungeon, trekking on horseback, all trickled away.

As he felt ready, he took the cup from the mage, thanking him in a soft voice as he moved back to where he had been before, sitting by a small, crackling fire, continuing to watch Jesse the whole while.

“So... do you have a name?” Jesse asked, not really one for sitting in silence while strangers stared at him. “Or... should I just keep calling you mage?” There was a slight quirk of the mage's brow, and internally Jesse panicked, worrying he had said something wrong. “I ain't tryna get a rise outta ya. I just... wanted to know. Not poking at ya like last time...” He trailed off into mutterings, and silence filled the little room once more. Jesse cursed himself internally, taking another sip of the drink he had been given.

“What did you see?” The mage spoke, eyes still trained on Jesse like a hawk. 

“Pardon?”

“In your dreams. You've spent the past three days crying and screaming. What did you see?” He pressed. Did this man blink? His eyes were so vividly blue, almost glowing, but not quite, pupils like a cat or snake. Jesse was more of a dog person, so he really couldn't say. He swallowed, attempting to remember his dreams, but when he did, the headache bloomed again, and he cussed. 

“I don't know! Ugh...” He hated this. His missed home. His friends. Ana. He wasn't a man who cried for much, but his heart ached as he thought of home. “I saw... a lake. Of blood. And then... some demon. And then the king. And he had too many eyes, and then... ohgod. He started bleeding. And he had too many eyes and I couldn't help him. He was dyin' and I just stood there like a fool. Oh god, what happened...” 

The cup tumbled out of Jesse's hands, the clay clattering against stone floor, but not breaking, the remaining drink spilling. But there were hands on his cheeks and blue eyes before him. How did he get here so fast. He saw the stars in his eyes. Or were his eyes stars themselves.

“Jesse. It's ok. Just breath.” The mages voice continued to croon and sooth him and his headache receded once more. Jesse sagged, and the mage lay him back down gently, checking him over, but more or less pulling the furs up a little higher. When Jesse stared into space for far too long, saying nothing, the mage spoke once more.

“Hanzo.”

Jesse cleared his throat, frowning slight. “Pardon?”

“My name. It's Hanzo.”

“That's... That's a nice name.” Jesse muttered, and lord did he feel tired. Hadn't he just slept for three days straight? He felt worse than the time he'd worked all day to keep the roof in one piece when a really bad storm decided the brothel wasn't quite sturdy enough. The place had closed for the day as Genji hosted the ladies, his place much sturdier and safe. Plus, he and the fighters would protect the girls with their lives if any lechers came asking.

But it had been him, Lena and Lucio all day, running buckets in an out, trying to patch bits that came off too fast. Since then, he had built the place up better, with help... That was how he'd met Jamie. He'd sold him most of the materials and even brought a friend, some great big fella along to help. 

Hanzo smiled gently as Jesse drifted off, his expression evening out as finally he sought rest. Only then did the mage rise and leave the room. Only just past the door however. He could not leave the king when his mind was so fragile. 

“How is he?” A frantic ask as Jack sat upright. He had been camping outside the room since Jesse had been brought in, and his worry was building to anxiety. Out of respect he did not touch the mage, but Hanzo could see he was barely holding himself back from shaking him about and demanding answers. 

“He is fine. Tired, weak, but fine. He needs some rest, and when he wakes, a good meal. Clean water, drawn from the stream to the south. It is cleanest if I remember correctly.”

“That can be sorted, but... Him. Is HE fine. I need to know... does he?” Jack's voice strained, a man desperate and on the verge of begging. 

“He does not remember you. No. The sword attempted to show him something, but he fought it. The man he is now, does not care to remember. I believe he tried to see, but something inside him closed him off.” Hanzo spoke, frowning slightly at Jack's look of confusion. There must be a better way to explain. “There... is Jesse, and then there is the real Jesse, within. The one the shell Jesse encases tightly like armour. It can't be broken normally, as anything that causes pain is pushed off. As if he is testing the water, finding it too hot and drawing back. As long as this shell Jesse is alive, he will not be able to use the sword, nor fight the king.”

“Then....” Jack's voice wavered, fear in his eyes. “Then how do we kill the shell...?”

“To kill Jesse, and have him be reborn, I must take him to a dark place. One even devils fear to tread.”

Jack frown, before his eyes widened with realisation. “No. NO. You are not taking him there. The dark lands are forbidden from even your people for a reason! He. Will. Die.” 

Hanzo stared blankly at him, before sighing and turning his gaze to face ahead. “That is the point.”

///

“You look beautiful today.” Sombra gave a start at her father's voice, spinning around and attempting to hide the necklace she had been trying on. 

“Father! You should really knock first. What if I was naked!”She grinned however, full knowing her handmaiden was to guard the door if she was ever in a state of undress. The king would speak through the door if that were the case, and she couldn't truly scold him since she had left it ajaar. She never closed it fully unless she desired solitude and privacy. 

“Then I would gouge out my own eyes.” He quipped in reply, earning a snicker from the princess as she moved to hug him. Her embrace was warm and made him feel complete, though some part of him ached every time. “What is that you've got there? It looked shiny, I like shiny things. Are you finally giving in to all those weak minded suitors? I thought I raised you better than that.” 

The girl laughed again, pulling back from her father to grin up at him. “Hardly the case papa.” And then any indication she had to hide the necklace vanished. She was relaxed, and smiled happily as she showed him the jewels. A circle of pearls and gems only found in deep waters in far off lands. “I found it this morning when I woke. On my pillow. I would have panicked if not for the insane amount of highly ruthless guards you keep patrolling this wing.”

“Uh huh...” He mused, not entirely convinced as he watched her excited expression. “And how else would it get there. You know if you're secretly courting the prince of a wealthy, foreign land, I'm going to be upset. Unless of course you plan to marry him, kill him and take over. Then I'm very proud of my little girl.” 

She laughed again, before shaking her head, clutching the item as if it were indeed a great treasure. “I don't know. But in my dreams last night, I was swimming in the ocean. Only it wasn't the ocean, it was the stars. And I saw everyone and everything and...” At loss for words, she gave a shrug and a happy sigh. “Magic maybe? I woke up and it was there, and it just... It feels nice.”

At the mention of magic, the king did freeze, taking a moment before he smoothed himself over. She gave him a concerned look, tilting her head.

“Papa... I know the mages were our enemies, that they did bad things to you. But magic may not be so bad without them. Even so... if it troubles you, I will throw away this necklace, have the smith grind it to dust even. Just say so.” There was a sadness in those words, but he knew she would do it if he asked. Instead he shook his head and smiled gently at her, reaching out to tuck one of her unruly locks behind her ear. 

“Your willingness to sacrifice a great treasure for my own comfort only eases my mind. You needn't worry so much. I only want for your happiness, and if any form of magic can make it so then it truly isn't so evil.”

Her smile grew infectious, and she embraced him once more, thanking him. She had never truly been one for such materialistic trinkets, which only made him all the more reluctant to force her to let it go. And as he helped her clip it on, he failed to let her know how it burned him. 

Afterwards, he helped her do her hair for the day, braiding the side like the northern warrior women she idolised, only adding his own flair with a few ornaments, and lastly, her circlet, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as it set upon her brow. And then it was time for the day to begin. 

After the morning meal, they made their way to the main hall, where they spent most their days receiving guests and talking with all the important people. Today the guest they received was Mei Ling Zhou. A foreign woman who had helped Gabriel raise Sombra after the castle attack. He insisted on doing it mostly by himself, distrusting of anyone and everyone. But Mei had been soft and worked her way in slowly, and soon he found out how much the infant had been lacking in his own care. She needed the soft attentions of a mother that he could not provide, and Mei was happy to in his stead. And it meant he could sleep. He slept for a week straight the moment Mei had proven she was capable. 

When Mei entered the hall, she bowed eloquently, capturing the attention of everyone in the room. She was a short, plump woman, dressed in an elegant gown lined with furs and white feathers tipped with jewels. She had a condition, as she called it, that weakened her to cooler temperatures. They cold reached her bones, she said. Even on the warmest days she would be dressed as such, but never did he see her shiver. He admired the strength she had in standing despite her illness. 

“Majesties, it has been far too long. Snowball and I have missed you both greatly.” She mused happily, and as it's name was called, a snowy owl appeared, swooping down to land on the arm of Sombra's throne, hooting in expectation until Sombra fed it a treat and stroked it's feathers. Snowball was not the owl's name, more a title Sombra had given it as a child when she could not pronounce it's correct name, and since that time, it had simply stuck. 

“My lady, it indeed has been too long. I trust you had a safe journey.” Gabriel spoke, moving down to embrace her fondly. She had travelled to her far away home, a rare occurrence that took her away for months at a time. But whenever she returned, she brought gifts and stories aplenty for the princess. 

“As safe as can be in a stormy sea.” She smiled, a twinkle in her eye when Sombra's face changed to one that could barely contain all of her questions. “I believe I saw a sea monster too, but I confess I am tired. Perhaps at dinner, I can tell you all about it?” 

“Yes! Yes.” Sombra cleared her throat before grinning. “Go. Rest. And then tell me everything!”

“Sombra...” Gabriel's voice scraped at just the right tone to get the young girl to apologise, still with a cheeky laugh and shrug, but an apology none the less. “Apologies, my lady. Please rest at your leisure and when you are ready we shall have dinner. Your rooms are all prepared, as usual.”

///

Jesse stood in the centre of a stone circle, Akande and Jack standing to the side as they watched Hanzo sweep away all the leaves that had accumulated over the years. When the mage had finished, he began carving symbols, runes of a dead language around him, keeping his eyes locked with Jesse's as he gave instructions. 

Jesse didn't believe in magic. Not really. He believed it was real, but that it was a greater force, present in all things he did not. He didn't believe in hidden realms behind veils only broken in dreams and night mares. And yet the night mares was why he agreed. Where he wakes, he must journey where his feet take him. At that destination he will find a tower, beaten by the elements and hardly worth calling a tower any longer. At it's centre, an altar, carvings of the sun and moon, eyes and animalistic deities etched into the stone. If he touched the sword to the altar, survived the journey through the worst of the hidden worlds, then, and only then would his night terrors end. He would find the path to his peace. And the resistance would find the man they needed.

Jesse didn't care to find the meaning in those words. A good nights sleep for once in his goddamned life was all he could ask for. 

“Are you ready?” Hanzo spoke, his voice smooth and even as he broke Jesse from his thoughts. The taller man smirked, clutched the hilt of the sword in one hand and gave a curt not and winked.

To his astonishment, the other chuckled, shooting him a wink in return, yet before he had the chance to react, to say or do anything, he fell, and fell, and fell and fell. The wind rushed past him as everything vanished from sight. The sun and sky were swallowed by an abyss, until wasn't sure if he was staring into nothingness, or his eyes were closed. A brief moment of time passed that could have been days, weeks, years for all his knowledge, for when he woke, eyes creaking open and crusted with sleep, he found himself covered in snow, and nights worth of gentle fall. And yet he felt as warm as he had under that noon day sun. And as wide awake, not at all as if rousing from sleep. He frowned, and drew himself to his feet, finding his body oddly stiff, requiring a few stretches to work out the kinks. And as he stood, the cold set in, every motion awoke him to how bitter this place was. Wherever he looked he felt he saw no colour. And everything was slightly out of focus no matter what he did to attempt to see better. 

There were no visible landmarks. No signs of life. And he could not tell if the thing in the sky was sun, moon or some volatile mixture of the two. And sitting at it's highest point, offered little to no shade from the burnt out forest around him, dead trees with branches thinner and more worthless than his pinky. When he touched them, they gave way, and crumbled. Nothing for miles that he could use to start a fire, make a torch. All he could do was what he had been told, and so took a step forward. Any step, as long as he kept moving. 

He walked for hours upon hours, at least, it felt like hours. But the sun moon never budged, staring down at him as he seemed to get nowhere. But there was change in his surroundings. He reached the edge of the dead forest, which broke far too abruptly, no dead scrub blending into the landscape, just a steep cut off from dead forest, to the highlands, grass dead and crunchy beneath his boots. He thanked his stars there was nothing around to be alerted by his not so stealthy walking. 

Yet more hours he walked up hills and down hills, he lost sight of the forest, and there was no indication that there was ever any forest of any description. And with the constant sound of crunching footfalls, he was slowly losing his mind. He yawned involuntarily and rubbed his eyes. He was tired, regardless of the sun or moon's location in the sky. He simply wanted to find somewhere where he wouldn't wake up covered in snow to rest for a while. 

And his prayers, or perhaps they were curses, were answers when he came to the top of the next hill, to find a cliff face, with a mountain he should have seen much further away but hadn't. At the base of the cliff was a man sized hole, and in the entrance, green grass, dripping with dew, little flowers sprouting here and there. Water. It had to mean there was water near by. 

He swallowed, realising how dry his throat was, wanting to cry for the pain, yet finding his voice was little more than a whisper. But his spirits rose enough that he could push on. At the cave entrance, there was a little trickle of water, as he thought, but no matter how he tried, he couldn't collected it with his hands to drink. He thought of licking it off the ground, but a mouth full of mud wasn't his ideal outcome of this venture. Within the cave, he could hear drips of water, landing in what had to be a larger quantity, some sort of pool if he was lucky. 

 

Adjusting his belt, he gave a quick look around, making sure no one else was actually there to look at him, though he assure himself he was entirely alone in no man's land, before getting down on all fours and crawling through the entrance. It wasn't like his walk, long and unending. He felt he had only crawled for a moment before the tunnel opened up into a larger cavern, and lo and behold there was a pristine lake of water before him. Beams of light filtered through cracks in the cave walls, lighting the outcrop he stood upon. And with a triumphant, yet husky, cry of victory, he knelt down to cup his hands in the water and drink.

Only to pull them back with a show, finding his hands red raw and stinking, smelling like they were burning. Frowning, he saw a rock near his foot and nudged it in. It landed with a little splash, but didn't sink, instead it began to fizz and bubble, shrinking and shrinking until it was nothing and the water stilled once more.

He cursed, angry, shocked, desperately thirsty and at a loss. Well, he knew for certain he was not at all ingesting that water. So he would leave. Only, when he turned, there was no tunnel. Not even a trail of mud he had trekked in. He cursed, kicked the wall, punched it. Nothing. He cursed again. Something splashed in the water, and he froze, looking over his shoulder. The pool was completely still. But he thought he saw something moving within. Something alive.

“Help!!”

A plea in the darkness, echoing to and from. He couldn't tell where it was from, but he knew he heard it.

“Please help me!”

“What... I.. Yes! Yeah! Where are you? I'll try and get to you!”

Silence for a while. Utter nothingness. Panic set in. He felt thirsty no more, instead waiting for any sort of indication of the person in distress. He thought he saw.... there in the darkness. 

A man perhaps. Pale as the moon, dressed in a robe. A priest? He frowned, trying to see him better, stepping forward, minding the water's edge, when he felt two hands at his back. Clearly two firm hands, giving a strong shove, and he careened forward. He barely had time to brace himself as he broke the surface, and everything was in pain. He tried to scream, but air went out and the water came in, burning more. He thought he saw his own blood, tendrils of it in the water, and then something else like a tendril came into focus. Larger than he was, longer than he was, and it began to coil about his body and squeeze. The more he struggled, the tighter it squeezed, until - “crack!” He felt something in him break and he choke on the water, trying to punch the beast, but merely patting it. 

And then the surface of the water broke and something caught him by the arm, wrenching him away from the beast and it's crushing coils. He rose higher and higher, looking down to see a giant beast, something like a snake, but something more, glaring at him, and then it opened it's great jaws and howled. Roared. Sounds he would never have thought to hear from a snake. 

His savior, screamed back. A very human scream, though when he looked up he wished he hadn't, it's face something like a cat, but also a hog, and also a human, looked back. It screamed again and with incredible strength, hurled him away. He was caught by another's taloned feet, it's bat like wings beating harder to do so. Were these men or bats? He didn't know, but as this one screamed, more and more began to show up, all letting loose very human screams, and howls and cries, as they all began to fight over the scraps so to speak. 

Jesse roared back at them, as if they could understand what “Put me the fuck down!” meant. He clawed at them when he got a chance, but was hardly effect as he was continually snatched and thrown like a child's toy. 

Deep within the darkness there was a rumbling, and all the bat's began to still, dropping Jesse onto the caverned floor. It was silence as they continued to stare, waiting, and then from the darkness a roar and the snake beast burst forth, snapping it's jaws around three at once, severed pieces falling around Jesse and soaking him in a shower of blood. He curled up, covering his face as the creatures fought over him, expecting to be crushed, snatched up or simply swallowed whole. But as time passed, it grew still and silent. Jesse's face loosened and he cracked open an eye, to see the snake beast staring at him. He stared back, terrified. It came closer, breath puffing over his face as it smelled him, not like a snake, but like a dog. It's warm breath didn't burn like the water, oddly soothed the pain he felt. He blinked, and tears fell from his eyes. The creature tilted it's head, before turning away from him and coiling away into the darkness. And as it's body moved, his eyes were blinded by the light streaming in from an opening the size of a man made door. He blinked until his eyes adjusted, certifying it was truly there, before scrambling up and running for it, breaking into the cool night air. It was night. The sun less a sun and more a moon now, but still high in the sky. There were no stars, but instead great storm clouds, rumbling. The fact that they appeared to be behind the moon, yet so close, unsettled him, and he had to look away from the sky to the land before him. It was the highlands this time, but lush and green, grass definitely alive and dancing in the oncoming storm's wind. However, that's not what bothered him the most. 

What Jesse stared upon was a wolf. Or he hoped it was just a wolf. It was bigger than any horse he'd seen, and here and there through it's fur, multiple eyes blinked , focused on him and other things. All the eyes were a violet colour and glowing faintly, but the two eyes that were where they should be were a deep brown, regarding him with something that didn't feel like it was going to eat him. 

His feet moved before he was allowed to agree, inching him closer to the beast until he stood close enough to touch it. It made no move to attack or retreat, just kept watching him. 

“Who are you?” He asked, feeling like he had seen this incredible beast somewhere before. In reply, the purple eyes all closed, and it's head turned to the west, or what he assumed was the west. It stood still as a statue, it's fur barely touched by the breeze. He took a few steps in that direction, before thinking better of himself and stopping to turn and thank the creature. But it was gone. Gone like everything else. Even the cave and the mountain. He felt a pang of sadness in his chest, and as rain began to fall, so did tears. He cursed, and continued on, making sure the sword was still sheathed on his belt. The damned thing seemed to be untouched, not even scathed by the adventure so far. 

In the distance, a bolt of lighting cracked, and then another, closer. No thunder, just lightning. The sword thrummed at his side, and in the distance, an inhuman cry pierced the air. He ran. He ran and he ran and he ran. The storm was beating down around him, but he kept running, knowing that whatever it was, was chasing him. He was almost there. Almost where? Somewhere. He was almost somewhere. That's ok. He knew if he just kept running, he'd be safe. He tripped on a stone, cut his chin on another. From the darkness lurched something darker than darkness, and teeth tore through the meat of his leg. He cried, or perhaps roared, and kicked out until he struck the beast. When it let go with a mewl of pain, he scrabbled up and kept running.

He was running up now, up a hill, a mountain, climbing a cliff face, until he clawed up, finding a clump of grass and tugging it. When it didn't give way, he used it to haul himself up. There! Just a short was ahead, he saw stones. A stone circle? It looked familiar. It looked the same. He took off again, knowing beasts were nipping at his heels, until he was like the runners that raced in the fair, passing the finish line and collapsing in a panting heap, spread out on his back as the rain began to ease. He turned his head, and saw at the stones edge, lights flash in the moonlight, snarls of rage and disappointment coming from the beasts, before the vanished back into the night. 

He wanted to laugh, enjoy this victory, but he had something to do. His body ached, he was covered in blood, both his own and that of monsters. But he was where he was meant to be. Alive? He doubted that. But as he stood, he saw before him the altar he'd been told of. Simple, yet immeasurably beautiful at the same time.

Across from him, stood the wolf from before, fur dry and untouched by the weather. It didn't bother Jesse like it should have. It felt like it was the only thing that made sense in this place. It felt, oddly comforting. He nodded in it's direction, and drew the sword from it's sheath, holding it before him. It thrummed, pleased to be here, remembering so much more than he could ever think to, but somehow knowing which places to reach, which memories were his. He tilted it closer to the stone, and it clamped down, pulling him to the altar. He grunted, unable to let go, huffing at the sheer effort of holding on as he looked up to the wolf.

But it was not a wolf before him, but the tyrant king. Only... it wasn't. It.. He was softer somehow. Sadness was all he found in his eyes, words left unsaid to more than just Jesse. He reached out, cupped his cheek, and pressed a kiss to his brow, and the memories flowed forth. Jesse sobbed and wept, leaning into his father's touch, yearning to reach out for him, but knew that if he did, he would disappear and so too would Jesse. He wept until the last of his strength faded, warm hands stroking his hair, lulling him to sleep. He thought he heard him hum a tune, a song he'd once said he'd learned from his grandmother. It was a tune he hadn't heard since before that night, sung to him at bed time. He remembered Akande playing with his toy soldier's with him, trying to teach the child war strategies. He remembered Jack... His other father, standing tall and proud against the world, walking with him around the garden, holding his little hand in his larger one. 

And he remembered the king, Gabriel, his father, playing a tune by the fire, telling him stories and sneaking him treats when no one was looking. Letting him hide under his cloak when Jack was mad because he painted on the walls again. 

Jesse gave a final, tired sob, and felt like he had been pulled into an embrace, resting against a warm body, clutching the sword in both hands to his chest. He dreamt of the past. Of his fathers, of his life since that night. All of the memories churning together and falling into place. His heart was in pain, but he felt lighter, and sleep engulfed him as a great burden rose from his shoulders. 

The rain faded away, and as he began to dry, the warm embrace pulled away once more, briefly feeling passing fur against his cheek. He cracked his eyes open, to see the wolf, his father, once more, but upon doing so, lurched forwards, thrust from the nightmare and back into reality. He heard a handful of voices call his name. 

Someone caught him, holding him firm as he was apparently unable to hold himself. The sword was taken out of his frozen fingers, and Jack hauled his ass over to the fire. It was Jack. He knew it without opening his eyes. Even after all these years, a small lifetime, he still smelled the same, Jesse comforted by the scent as if he were a wolf pup being tended by it's mother. 

“Quickly, bring him to the fire.” 

Ah, that was the mage's voice. Hanzo. Commanding and fretful, and it too warmed him as Jack eased him onto the ground, Jesse spying a worried look on his face as he cracked one eye open. Jack knelt to the left, Hanzo to the right, working with a mortar and pestle, and Akande standing to the side, the sword safely in his grip. 

Jesse became accutely aware of all his injuries, the pain blossoming from head to toe, yet still he reached, curling his aching fingers around Jack's sleeve, tugging like a small child demanding attention. “I... I saw papa.” He spoke, voice croaking painfully. Jack froze, looking at him, and Hanzo watched Jack. “He misses us. He's sorry.... He's so so sorry...” Once more tears blossomed and he sobbed, Jack shushing him, telling him it was going to be alright as he smoothed his fingers through the boy's hair. For in that moment he was no more than a boy, scared and reaching for his father. He was urged to rest, by all three of his companions then, each offering a different form of comfort. Akande, promising vengeance, Jack telling him that neither he nor Gabriel had to apologize, and Hanzo taking his hand ever so gently and vowing to be his guide. To help him every step of the way. And as the mage tended to his wounds, he drifted into a peaceful sleep at last, head resting in Jack's lap as the older man drew his fingers through it, soothing him into rest. 

///

Hours later, the sun reaching noon time, and Jesse sat on the small barge they had travelled to the shrine in, resting against the tent wall in the centre. Jack was beside him, asleep, apparently not having allowed himself rest during Jesse's absence. Akande handled the barge alone, humming a low tune that bubbled like the edges of the water. And Hanzo sat before Jesse, working on some spells or some such, his work utterly intriguing the other. 

“What happened to your people?” He asked, his tongue not able to be held still. Hanzo paused, almost as if he wanted to face the other, before he continued with his work. 

“Your father killed them. He filled our homes with monsters, and those that fled to this world were hunted down and slaughtered.” 

“How did you escape? Surely others could have?”

Another pause, and a ghost of smile passed over his lips. “A nice sentiment. But I doubt it. The lady of the lake saved me.” At Jesse's curious and probing expression, Hanzo chuckled, relenting and resting back to tell his story. “I thought I had outrun the hunters. I was close to the border. But they had caught up. I was on a barge much like this one, shackled to the mast with a half dozen other mages. When the vessel began to take on water. The river was wider than this one, and far deeper. We sank into the darkness, the hunters weighed down by their armour, the mages by their chains. I thought I was going to drown. But awoke on the banks of an island shrouded in fog. The lady spoke to me only once, and told me when the time came, the fog would thin, and I would be able to leave.” 

Jesse frowned, tilting his head curiously. “How did you leave?”

“One morning the fog parted, and a boat drifted to the shore.”

“And you just got on? No questions? Just knew where you were going and what you were doing?”

Hanzo chuckled and shook his head as he smoothed out his robe. “I knew nothing. I merely committed myself to follow the steps lain before me. And when the boat reached a clear shoreline, someone, a friend, was already there, waiting for me. They gave me the tools I would need, and told me where to travel to find the general. He and the resistance have kept me safe while we waited for you.”

“And all this, on the whim of some siren?” Jesse mused, scratching his chin.

“The lady of the lake is no siren.” Hanzo replied, amused, yet also correcting him like a stern tutor. “She is... something of a guardian. Not only of this world, but all worlds. In times when the darkness seeks to consume all, she bestows a gift of light unto the world. A tool crafted by the lady herself.”

“So... the sword then.”

“No. The sword, though a powerful tool, was created from the mage king's staff. His love took it and used the last of their combined power to create the sword. It was a gift at the start of the mage war. To fight back the abominations and monsters conjured by the witch of the wilds. Your father was the first to wield it. They say, when he fought with it, he conjured a storm, a whirlwind of death.”

“Gabe was always able to do that...” Jack spoke up, voice hoarse from sleep, so he paused to clear his throat. “The sword just.... Made it better.”

“So, he was a mage?” Jesse asked, quirking his brow. To his knowledge only magic folk could conjure weather and phenomenon. 

“No... Not quite. When we were children, we got lost in the woods. The witch of the wilds found us, cold and starving. Fed us and gave us each a spell. One tied to our hearts, or so she said. We were children and thought it fanciful tales.” Jack chuckled, tilting his head towards Jesse. “We thought if we tried hard enough, we could make plants grow faster, or turn frogs into mice. As if her magic made us mages aswell. We forgot about it until we were teens. When we joined the revolt. When Gabe fought... no mortal weapon could touch him. Blades passed through him as if he were the fog itself. The only wounds he received were from a stray fire ball, and that was only in practice, with friends from the mages.”

“What can you do?” Jesse asked, and the twinkle of interest in his eyes made Jack feel as if he were back with the little boy all those years ago. 

“Me? It's ah... Nothing too special.”

“Nothing too special?” Akande spoke up, disbelief in his voice. “The man can shoot a target at seventy paces, multiple targets, one after the other, moving and all. He need only see a man and then that foe is dead by his bow. And with a blade? He always hits his mark. He is relentless, he does not tire. That is how he has escaped capture and certain death so often. What good are hounds if they tire before their prey?”

Jack laughed and scratched the back of his head, clearly embarrassed by it all. Jesse snickered a little, though wondered at the truth of Akande's words. 

“So... if the sword, and those abilities are only given by regular magic, what are the gifts that the lady of the lake gives?” He asked, turning to Hanzo again and changing to topic to which he felt Jack sigh in relief beside him. 

“You are...” Hanzo said, a smile on his lips as he eye Jesse, taking in his look of disbelief. “When you were... born? For lack of better word, your blood was tested by the mage king's wife. You carry the blood of both your fathers, but you came from no where. You merely appeared-”

“Wet as fish, and smelling of the sea.” Jack mused, eyes staring into memories long passed. “We asked what magic made you, and no one could answer. But then A... Our friend told us of the Lady's gifts. Muttered some embarrassing nonsense about the light created by our love and hence you appeared. Same with your sister...”

“I have a sister...?”

“Olivia. She's... she will not think us family if she saw us.” Jack trailed off, brow furrowed. Akande finished for him. 

“The tyrant king, that monster, took her and raised her as his own. Who knows how he has polluted that child. We can only hope.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaay, I'm back I guess

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on the recent movie King Arthur, legend of the sword. But in writing it I am challenging myself to not write a carbon copy.


End file.
